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THE 


BRIGHTER     AGE 


P  O  E  M. 


BY  J.   B.  WATERBURY. 


Moreover  the  light  of  the  moon  shall  be  as  the  light  of  the  sun,  and  the  light  of 
the  sun  shall  be  seven-fold,  as  the  light  of  seven  days,  in  the  day  that  the  Lord 
bindeth  up  the  breach  of  his  people,  and  healeth  the  stroke  of  their  wound. 

ISAIAH. 


BOSTON : 
PUBLISHED  BY  CROCKER  &  BREWSTER, 

NO.    47,    WASHINGTON    STREET. 

1830. 


" 


DISTRICT    OF   MASSACHUSETTS,   TO   WIT  : 

District  Clerk's  Office. 

BE  it  remembered,  that  on  the  twentyfifth  day  of  February,  A.  D.  1830,  in  the 
fiftyfourth  year  of  the  Independence  of  the  United  States  of  America,  Crocker 
and  Brewster  of  the  said  district,  have  deposited  in  this  office  the  title  of  a 
book,  the  right  whereof  they  claim  as  pioprietors,  in  the  words  following,  to  wit : 

"The  Brighter  Age:  a  Poem.  By  J.  B.  Waterbury.  Moreover  the  light  of 
the  moon  shall  be  as  the  light  of  the  sun,  and  the  light  of  the  sun  shall  be  seven 
fold,  as  the  light  of  seven  days,  in  the  day  that  the  Lord  bindeth  up  the  breach  of 
his  people  and  healcth  the  stroke  of  their  wound.  Isaiah." 

In  conformity  to  the  act  of  the  Congress  of  the  United  States,  entitled  'An 
act  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  by  securing  the  copies  of  maps,  charts, 
and  books,  to  the  authors  and  proprietors  of  such  copies,  during  the  times  therein 
mentioned : '  and  also  to  an  act,  entitled  '  An  act  supplementary  to  an  act,  entitled, 
An  act  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  by  securing  the  copies  of  maps,  charts, 
and  books,  to  the  authors  and  proprietors  of  such  copies,  during  the  times  therein 
mentioned  j  and  extending  the  benefits  thereof  to  the  arts  of  designing,  engraving, 
and  etching  historical  and  other  prints.' 

JNO.  W.  DAVIS, 
Clerk  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


THE 


BRIGHTER    AGE 


SWEET  harp  of  Mercy  !  wake  thy  chords  again ; 
Pour  on  the  ear  the  soothing,  cheering  strain. 
That  speaks  of  sorrow  past ;  of  sins  forgiven  ; 

( 

Of  man  redeemed ;  and  Earth  restored  to  Heaven. 

Then,  yonder  sun,  so  dazzling  bright  before, 
Shall  walk  his  path  with  glory  seven-fold  more : 
The  modest  moon,  of  pale  and  pensive  ray, 
Shall  vie  in  lustre  with  the  orb  of  day  : 
Then,  all  that 's  bright  and  beautiful  on  high, 
Planets  that  roll,  and  stars  that  gem  the  sky ; 


M189023 


4  THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

More  richly  clad,  glowing  with  purer  rays. 
Shall  wake  the  soul  in  ecstasy  and  praise. 

'T  is  not  that  imperfection  may  he  traced, 
In  aught  a  hand  Omnipotent  hath  graced  : 
What  He  creates,  adorns,  or  dignifies, 
Whether  in  earth  or  air,  in  flood  or  skies, 
Bears  the  clear  impress  of  His  perfect  skill, 
From  orb  to  atom ;  sea,  to  meanest  rill. 

The  beam  that  warms  us  feels  as  genial  now, 
As  when  it  fell  on  young  creation's  brow. 
It  steals  as  sweetly  through  the  silent  shade, 
As  when  it  tinged  the  Eden  God  had  made. 
The  summer  cloud,  that  skirts  the  western  blue, 
So  richly  gilt  with  many  a  varying  hue, 
Pencilled  by  Deity,  as  calmly  dies, 
As  when  it  faded  on  primeval  eyes. 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

There  is  no  change  above.     Those  orbs  are  still 
As  pure  as  when,  obedient  to  His  will, 
They  rose  from  chaos,  and  arrayed  in  light. 
Blazed  out  at  noon,  or  twinkled  on  the  night. 
Tempests  may  rave,  clouds  blacken  in  the  air ; 
But  all  is  calm — and  bright — and  changeless  there. 

The  curse  that  fell  upon  this  fated  earth, 
"When  Satan  tempted,  and  when  sin  had  birth, 
Disrobed  it  of  its  gay,  its  primal  dress, 
Turning  its  surface  to  a  wilderness. 
A  beauteous  Eden  withered  at  a  word : 
Pale  with  affright,  her  flowers  and  foliage  heard 
Incensed  Heaven  command  the  tyrant  death 
To  blight  their  verdure,  with  his  wasting  breath. 
Yet  mountains  must  have  to\vered  in  grandeur  still, 
And  beauty  dwelt  on  river,  rock,  and  hill. 

What  though  spontaneous  fruits  no  longer  grew, 
1* 


0  THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

Nor  thornless  roses  glistened  in  the  dew  ? 
The  curse  was  softened ;  for  the  sterile  soil 
Rebloomed  with  verdure,  'neath  the  hand  of  toil. 

But  who  can  say  that  other  orbs  have  felt 
The  woes  insulted  Heaven  to  our's  has  dealt? 
No — let  the  crimson  stain  defile  but  this  ! 
Let  yonder  worlds  be  still,  but  worlds  of  bliss. 

The  change,  a  better,  brighter  age  shall  cause, 
Is  not  in  nature,  or  in  nature's  laws  ; 
They  must  remain  the  same  till  time  shall  end ; 
Till  Heaven  and  Earth  in  final  ruin  blend. 
The  soul  of  man,  so  long  entombed  in  night, 
Must  wake,  reclothed  in  robes  of  living  light : 
Must  gaze  with  vision  cleared,  with  rapture  high, 
On  earth  and  sea,  sun,  moon,  and  starry  sky. 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  < 

New  beauties  then  shall  fix  and  fill  the  sight ; 

What  once  seemed  dimness,  shine  with  brilliant  light. 

Maker  of  all,  in  every  scene  we  see 
Traces  of  glory,  signatures  of  Thee  ! 
"  The  heavens  declare  that  glory,"  and  the  sea 
Speaks,  in  hoarse  thunders,  of  Thy  majesty. 
"  If  on  the  wings  of  morning  light,  we  try 
To  shun  the  notice  of  Thy  piercing  eye ; 
Or  if  to  hell  we  plunge  ; "  and  hope  to  find 
A  spot  secluded  from  the  Omniscient  mind ; 
'T  is  vain :  since  from  Thy  firm  and  powerful  grasp, 
No  might  of  earth  or  hell  can  e'er  unclasp. 
Who  but  the  guilty,  Lord,  would  wish  to  flee  ? 
Who  bat  the  guilty  dread  the  thought  of  Thee  ? 
If  in  Thy  mercy  I  may  share  a  part ; 
If  Thou  but  speak  forgiveness  to  this  heart ; 


8  THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

No  terrors  shall  Thy  glorious  presence  raise ; 
But  calm  the  soul  and  fill  the  lips  with  praise. 
To  walk  with  God,  to  feel  Him  ever  near ; 
What  joy  can  equal  it — what  bliss  so  dear? 

Yes  ;  't  is  in  MAN,  that  all  this  change  shall  be  : 
The  past  with  him  shall  seem  obscurity. 

That  Gracious  Spirit,  who  from  chaos  spoke 
A  world  to  being ;  at  whose  fiat  woke 
Life,  order,  beauty,  bliss,  and  every  grace, 
Shall  speak  again ;  and  o'er  our  ruined  race, 
Hope,  purity,  and  heavenly  light   shall  rise ; 
Millennial  glory  greet  the  longing  eyes. 

What  transformations  ;  Oh,  what  changes  great. 
Shall  pass  on  man  ; — his  mental,  moral  state  ! 
Who  can  with  confidence  such  scenes  declare  ? 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

Fancy  might  furl  her  pinions  in  despair. 
Shall  clouds  roll  up  their  gloomy  folds  no  more  ? 
Shall  ocean-wrecks  no  longer  strew  the  shore  ? 
Shall  plague  or  famine  desolate  no  land ; 
Nor  warriors  meet  to  hurl  the  deadly  brand  ? 
Shall  pining  poverty  no  more  distress  ? 
Shall  all  be  happy,  each  his  fellow  bless  ? 
That  sacred  oracle  which  God  hath  given, 
A  record  sealed  in  blood  and  sent  from  Heaven, 
Discloses  scenes  of  gladness  and  of  grace, 
"Which  numbers  weak  as  mine  can  never  trace. 

But  yet  a  child  of  clay  may  speak  his  thought. 
Where  all's  obscure  and  all  with  mystery  fraught. 
Forgive,  Oh  Heaven,  if  his  unconscious  hand 
Shall  strike  a  chord  forbid  by  Thy  command  ! 
'T  is  to  Thy  praise  he  tunes  the  feeble  lyre : 
Oh,  let  the  motive  stir  the  sacred  fire ! 


10  THE    BRIGHTER   AGE. 

Wake  in  his  soul  the  visions  of  delight ; 

Edens  of  thought  expressed  in  numbers  bright. 

The  immortal  mind  with  all  its  stores  are  Thine ; 

All  are  from  Thee,  formed  by  a  hand  divine. 

If  in  his  soul  a  deeper  feeling  flow, 

If  thought  illume  that  soul,  or  genius  glow 

More  vivid  than  in  meanest  of  his  race ; 

The  gift,  Oh  Lord !  is  Thine ;  Thine  be  the  Praise! 

Queries  which  curiosity  will  bring, 
Start  th'  adventurous  flight  of  fancy's  wing. 
Things  unrevealed  but  court  her  fearless  eye ; 
She  loves  to  unravel  covered  mystery. 
If  clouds  enwrap  the  mountain's  top-most  height, 
'T  is  but  the  signal  for  her  restless  flight. 
That  mystic  curtain  woven  in  the  air, 
Tempts  her  to  rise  and  wave  her  pinions  there. 
If  Ocean's  vast,  unfathomable  deep, 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  11 

Where  billows  thunder,  and  where  tempests  sweep, 
Defy  the  assiduous  search  of  sordid  men, 
And  lock  its  treasures  safe  from  mortal  ken ; 
Fearless  she  plunges  in  the  threatening  waves ; 
Ranges  unfettered  through  the  rocky  caves ; 
Hears,  rushing  by,  the  monsters  of  the  deep, 
Or  starts  to  see  them  in  their  caverns  sleep. 
Walks  the  green  slimy  bed  of  Ocean ;  where 
Fragments  of  men,  of  wrrecks,  of  treasures  rare, 
Lie  like  the  relics,  that  some  ravening  beast 
O'ergorged,  has  left  to  indicate  his  feast. 
So ;  when  she  turns  to  yon  bright  canopy, 
Though  trembling,  dares  beneath  that  veil  to  pry. 
Who  can  arrest  the  mind,  or  thought  can  stay ; 
When  faith  impels  where  fancy  might  delay  1 
Faith  has  unlocked  those  portals  to  the  eye  : 
Faith  has  rolled  back  the  curtain  of  the  sky : 
Paved  the  bright  road  for  fancy  to  advance ; 


12  THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

Lengthened  her  wings  ;  bestowed  a  keener  glance  : 
Poured  on  her  eye  the  seraph's  burning  rays : 
Poured  on  her  ear  the  cherubim's  high  praise : 
Unfolded  all  but  Him,  that  glorious  One ; 
Pervading  Spirit,  whom  the  gaze  of  none 
May  venture  to  approach  for  scrutiny. 
Th'  Eternal  dwells  in  His  own  mystery. 
From  where  the  harpers  sing,  the  angels  glow ; 
From  the  sweet  fields  where  crystal  rivers  flow ;  . 
With  restless  pinion,  will  the  spirit  dare 
To  gage  that  fearful  prison  of  despair  ; 
Where  fiery  floods  flash  on  the  hideous  night, 
Making  hell's  darkness,  darker  by  their  light. 

There  is  no  spot  in  Earth,  or  air,  or  sea, 
Barred  from  th'  approach  of  light-winged  fantasy. 
E'en  Heaven  she  scales,  e'en  Hell  she  must  explore ; 
The  Universe  her  home,  her  boundary,  NO  MORE. 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  13 

Yet  not  with  present,  nor  with  past  she  rests : 
The  future,  the  prospective  scene  she  tests. 
Hovers  around  the  teeming  prophecy ; 
Searching  what  has  been,  and  what  is  to  be. 
Who  would  confine  phrenetic  fancy ;  when 
That  age  of  mercy  promised  unto  men, 
Seems  dawning  on  a  world  so  long  in  chains, 
So  fraught  with  misery,  racked  so  long  with  pains  ? 

Yes ;  we  may  ask,  and  innocently  ask 
Imagination,  gifted  for  the  task, 
To  soothe  the  soul  with  visions  of  that  scene ; 
Wafting  our  thoughts  o'er  all  the  ills  between. 
Oh,  sweet  enchantress !  gild  each  coming  bliss ; 
Bear  us  where  sin  or  sorrow  never  is  ; 
Draw  back  the  veil  of  time;  and  bid  us  see 
Eden  replanted,  with  her  "  living  tree." 


14  THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

Shall  aught  that  charms  the  mind,  then  charm  no  more? 
Shall  seasons  change ;  shall  winter-frosts  be  o'er  ? 
Shall  spring  perennial  deck  herself  in  flowers  ? 
Fruits  ever  ripe  hang  clustering  from  the  bowers? 
No  storm  disturb  those  flowers ;  no  rude  frost  nip 
The  fruit,  ere  yet  it  touch  the  longing  lip  ? 
*T  were  vain  to  think  the  Deity  would  change 
The  order  of  the  world  ;  its  scenes  derange. 

The  elements  must  still  their  nature  keep : 
The  warring  winds  will  rise ;  and  risen,  sleep. 
The  clouds  will  gather  dark  as  gloomy  night, 
And  sweep  the  welkin,  thundering  in  their  flight ; 
But  He  who  rides  upon  the  awful  storm, 
Wrapping  its  terrors  round  His  viewless  form, 
Shall  guide  the  tempest ;  the  fierce  bolts  shall  wield  ; 
And  catch  them,  flashing,  on  His  mighty  shield. 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  15 

He,  who  before,  as  such  a  scene  appeared, 
Shook  to  the  soul,  and  speedy  vengeance  feared  ; 
Who  started  pale  as  crashing  thunders  fell, 
And  felt  or  feared  the  miseries  of  hell ; 
Can  now  look  up,  and  hear  the  stunning  crash ; 
Can  mark  unmoved  the  lightning's  frequent  flash. 
Peaceful  he  gazes  on  the  mingled  strife ; 
Nor  feels  a  dread,  nor  fears  the  loss  of  life. 
His  head  is  covered  by  paternal  care, 
And  He  who  guides  the  storm,  will  guard  him  there. 

Oh !  who  but  covets  such  a  calm  delight ; 
Felt  when  the  storm  is  raging  in  its  might ! 
For  one  (alas  !  that  faith  should  be  so  weak  ! ) 
One,  in  whose  heart  no  guilty  dread  should  speak  ; 
Whose  hope  reposes  on  that  very  arm, 
That  shakes  the  vaulted  heavens  with  alarm  j 


16  THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

Feels,  as  the  muttering  thunders  distant  roll, 
Instinctive  horror  vibrate  on  the  soul. 
Oft  has  he  paused,  to  catch  the  rumbling  sound, 
While  sombre  clouds  were  gathering  thick  around  ; 
Has  watched  the  craggy  battlements,  that  rise 
In  gloomy  grandeur  on  the  western  skies  ; 
Has  shuddered  as  th'  advancing  terrors  came, 
With  more  terrific  peals,  and  fiercer  flame. 
Oh !  who  can  be  unmoved,  when  God  displays 
Such  emblems  of  His  wrath  to  human  gaze  ! 
When  darkness  deepening  spreads  a  gloom  o'er  all ; 
As  if  "enwrapped  in  one  great  funeral  pall !" 
While  fiery  bolts  in  startling  fury  crash ; 
And  forked  flames,  unceasing  play  and  flash  ! 

There  is  in  human  hearts  a  strange  desire 
To  feel  the  terrors  that  such  scenes  inspire : 


THE    BRIGHTER   AGE.  17 

That  almost  wishes,  almost  woos  the  storm-; 

Yet,  when  it  comes,  flies  back  in  pale  alarm, 

Nor  can  we  calmly  list  the  dreadful  roar ; 

Till  whirlwind's  spent,  and  tempest  rave  no  more. 

Till  on  the  booming  cloud,  the  longing  eye 

Greet  the  sweet  promised  bow  of  many  a  dye : 

Till  the  deep  azure,  deepened  by  contrast, 

Shows,  through  the  breaking  clouds,  the  storm  is  past. 

Then,  how  delightful,  how  enrapturing  then, 
To  see  the  gilded  landscape  smile  again  ! 
The  trees  so  green,  so  gemmed  with  sparkling  dews  ; 
Each  crystal  drop  reflecting  rain-bow  hues  ; 
The  throats  of  feathered  songsters,  lately  hush, 
Warbling  anew  their  notes  in  brake  and  brush ; 
The  distant  thunder  dying  on  the  ear  ; 
And  skies  so  lately  darkened,  now  so  clear ; 


18  THE    BRIGHTER   AGE. 

The  fleecy  vapours  piled  in  mountain-height, 
So  calm — so  soft — so  still — so  silvery  bright ; 
Oil !  who  such  scenes  can  view,  nor  feel  delight? 

Will  God,  who  writes  His  majesty  and  might, 
In  lines  so  grand,  in  coloring  so  bright ; 
So  pencils  to  the  eye  His  love  divine, 
When  storm  is  past,  and  rain-bow  beauties  shine  ; 
Will  He,  in  that  bright  age,  no  more  unroll 
Scenes  so  enrapturing  to  the  human  soul  ? 
It  cannot  be.     Their  terrors  then  may  cease  ; 
But,  Oh !  the  joy  they  give,  it  must  increase 
Where  souls  are  tuned  to  love  and  harmony ; 
Where  God  's  on  earth  adored  as  in  the  sky. 

The  storm  that  sweeps  the  land,  the  sea  may  sweep ; 
And  wake  the  fury  of  the  mighty  deep. 


THE    BRIGHTER   AGE.  19 

The  towering  billows  thundering  as  they  break, 
Making  the  very  universe  to  quake ; 
Shall  seem  as  harmless,  in  their  giant  roar. 
As  when  they  die  in  ripples  on  the  shore. 

The  mariner,  who  erst  would  watch  the  heaven, 
As  on  its  margin  fearful  signs  were  given ; 
Who  snuffed  the  coming  storm,  and  bade  his  crew, 
Stand  to  their  duty,  death  was  in  their  view ; 
Whose  rugged  breast,  though  bared  to  many  a  gale, 
Throbbed  with  strange  fear,  as  wind  and  storm  assail; 
Now  lists  unscared,  the  music  of  the  deep, 
As  the  fierce  hurricanes  its  bosom  sweep. 
Though  on  the  dizzy  summit  of  the  wave, 
Or  in  the  sea-trough,  yawning  like  a  grave, 
His  sportive  bark,  now  high,  now  low,  appears : 
Calmly  he  sings,  nor  death  nor  danger  fears. 


20  THE    BRIGHTER   AGE. 

Yes ;  while  the  ocean-storm  in  thunder  raves ; 
And  piping  winds  sigh  'mong  the  deep  toned  waves ; 
Hark !  from  amid  the  gloom  and  stunning  roar, 
Sounds  the  sweet  hymn  of  pious  mariner. 

That  awful  ocean  then  no  frowns  shall  wear ; 
Nor  life  devour,  when  God  's  the  Guardian  there. 
No  rock  the  wary  mariner  shall  fear ; 
No  breakers  pour  the  death-cry  on  his  ear ; 
No  chart  misguide — no  quick-sand  dash  his  bark, 
Safe  shall  it  ride,  as  once  the  sheltered  ark. 
No  maiden's  heart  shall  then  be  torn  with  fears  ; 
No  matron  tremble  as  the  storm  appears ; 
All  be  secure,  though  warring  winds  may  rave ; 
No  seaman  then  shall  fear  a  watery  grave. 

But  why  should  tempests,  in  that  brighter  age, 
Howl  through  the  earth,  or  on  the  ocean  rage  ? 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  21 

Why  not  Ausonian  gales  and  zephyrs  bland, 
Fan  the  smooth  sea,  and  revel  on  the  land  1 

It  may  be  so.    But  then  must  nature  change  ; 
Then  must  the  Deity  his  works  derange : 
Or  all  be  made  anew ;  remodelled  all, 
The  form  and  features  of  this  earthly  ball. 
And  why,  with  equal  reason  we  demand, 
Shall  works  so  perfect,  shall  a  world  so  grand  ; 
Works  which  Omnipotence,  with  wondrous  skill, 
Conceived,  and  formed  and  garnished  to  His  will ; 
Why  should  these  wonders  cease ;  why  all  things  new  7 
When  all  is  now,  so  glorious  to  the  view  ? 

Give  me  a  soul  to  feel,  an  eye  to  see, 
In  every  leaf  a  present  Deity ; 
Let  me,  my  Lord !  Thy  mystic  foot-step  trace 
On  earth,  in  air,  in  sea,  in  every  place ; 


22  THE    BRIGHTER   AGE. 

And  rugged  nature — wildest  scenes,  shall  be 
Fraught  with  the  charms  of  Paradise  to  me. 
Yes ;  I  '11  adore  Thee  in  the  tempest  dire, 
And  hail  Thy  footsteps  in  the  lightning's  fire. 
My  soul  secure  shall  walk  the  stormy  main, 
If  on  her  path  a  glimpse  of  Thee  she  gain. 

The  bursting  crater  vomiting  its  fires, 
Falls  on  th'  affrighted  eye,  and  fear  inspires. 
But  why  ?     Because  its  burning  torrent  flows 
A  death  wave,  over  thousands  as  it  goes. 
Still  do  those  furnace-fires  in  mercy  glow ; 
Though  some  may  suffer,  more  are  saved  from  woe. 
So,  in  the  tempest's  wrath,  while  few  are  slain, 
Millions  are  saved  from  famine,  plague,  and  pain. 

But  in  that  coming  age  of  glory,  all  that 's  ill 
Shall  be  no  more.     Good  only  Heaven  shall  will. 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  23 

Volcanic  fires  may  still  illume  the  night ; 
Tornadoes  sweep  ;  and  ocean  rise  in  might ; 
Nought  shall  molest,  no  fear  invade  the  mind ; 
Volcano,  sea,  and  tempest  God  shall  bind. 

JT  were  a  blessed  vision  to  the  glowing  heart, 
To  see  a  paradise  of  beauties  start, 
Where  all  was  drear,  and  desert,  lone  and  dry : 
Oh  't  were  a  vision  dear  to  Poetry. 
But  shall  the  desert  teem  with  verdure  rare  ; 
Its  sandy  surface  fragrant  roses  bear  ? 
Sweet  is  the  thought  to  me ;  but  sweeter  still 
The  truth,  which  He  who  promised  shall  fulfil. 

The  moral  waste,  to  moral  verdure  turn ; 
The  fruitless  heart,  fertility  shall  learn. 
The  rose  of  Sharon  shall  be  planted  where 
Infectious  weeds  had  tainted  all  the  air. 


24  THE    BRIGHTER   AGE. 

Yes  ;  on  the  soul,  an  Eden  shall  rebloom : 
Beauty  shall  rise  where  all  was  death  and  gloom. 

'T  is  not  the  desert  with  its  scorching  sand ; 
Nor  forests  frowning  in  some  lonely  land ; 
T  is  not  the  snow-clad  mountain's  towering  dome, 
Where  gloom  and  silence  make  their  changeless  home ; 
Not  these,  sweet  flowers,  spontaneous  fruits  shall  bear : 
Eternal  barrenness  these  rocks  shall  wear ; 
And  solitude  and  death  forever  reign 
On  Afric's  scorching  sands  and  flinty  plain. 
There  shall  the  serpent  hiss — the  lion  roam ; 
For  He  who  made  them,  gave  them  there  a  home. 

Though  Arab  merchant  still  may  wander  there, 
And  spread  his  tent  amid  the  desert  air ; 
Nor  serpent's  hiss  nor  lion's  roar  he  '11  dread  { 
Its  shield  Protecting  Heaven  shall  o'er  him  spread. 


THE    BRIGHTER   AGE.  25 

Shall  snows  that  fall  and  freeze  on  Zembla's  plains. 
Till  nature  shudders  in  her  icy  chains ; 
Terrific  glaciers ;  avalanches  high  ; 
Shall  these  melt  down  beneath  a  milder  sky  ? 
From  laws  which  bind  the  universe,  we  see 
That  earth  and  sun  must  change,  ere  this  can  be. 
Man  must  acquire  a  different  nature  too  ; 
To  suit  a  clime  so  different ;  scenes  so  new. 

Ah  tell  me  not  that  northern  Indian  prays 
For  God  to  change  his  cold,  to  sultry  days  ; 
To  melt  the  frosty  bonds  that  gird  his  land, 
And  soothe  his  rugged  frame  with  zephyrs  bland. 
Not  these  the  changes  that  he  longs  to  see ; 
He  loves  his  clime,  terrific  though  it  be. 
There  did  his  infant  limbs  their  vigour  gain ; 
There  his  fleet  rein-deers  swept  the  glassy  plain. 
There  his  warm  cabin  with  its  cheerful  blaze, 


26  THE    BRIGHTER   AGE. 

Has  made  him  reckless  of  the  long,  dark  days. 
There  clad  in  ample  furs,  with  javelin  rude, 
He  's  braved  the  storm,  the  northern  bear  pursued. 
These  are  his  pleasures — this  his  native  land  ; 
He  asks  no  happier  at  his  Maker's  hand. 

Give  him  that  grace  that  o'er  his  darkened  heart 
Shall  shed  its  beams  of  light — its  bliss  impart ; 
That,  when  the  chase  is  o'er,  and  ebbing  flows 
The  crimson  current  to  a  fearful  close  ; 
Shall,  on  the  dying  vision  open  bright 
Th'  eternal  rest — the  haven  of  delight ; 
Give  him  but  this,  to  gild  his  gloomy  way, 
From  his  poor  cabin,  to  the  realms  of  day  ; 
And  kings  might  covet ;  nobles  might  contend 
For  such  a  country,  joined  with  such  an  end. 


THE    BRIGHTER   AGE.  27 

Soothing  may  be  the  Poet's  voice  and  lyre. 
Glancing  on  themes  that  fan  the  sacred  fire  ; 
Yet  truth  must  guide,  at  least,  must  guard  our  way  ; 
Nor  fancy  spurn,  impatient  of  delay. 

Truth  bids  us  sing,  (predicting  brighter  days) 
No  change  in  nature ;  man  must  change  his  ways. 
The  autumn  winds  and  frosts  shall  still  succeed 
To  summer  breezes,  whitening  all  the  mead ; 
And  winter,  with  his  cold,  relentless  grasp, 
Lock  shuddering  nature  in  his  iron  clasp. 
But  summer,  autumn,  winter,  beauteous  spring, 
Shall  all  combine  their  Maker's  praise  to  sing. 
All  have  their  beauties,  each  displays  the  power 
That  cheers  the  winter's  gloom,  that  paints  the  flower. 

One  heart,  to  whom  these  changing  scenes  are  dear 
One  soul,  at  least,  can  hail  the  varying  year. 


28  THE    BRIGHTER   AGE. 

Sweet  is  the  Spring  to  him,  when  to  the  north 
The  fierce  winds  hie,  and  zephyrs  venture  forth. 
He  loves  to  mark  the  frozen  fetters  flee ; 
ThJ  impatient  current  struggling  to  be  free ; 
He  loves  the  crash,  and  sweep,  and  thundering  roar 
Of  torrent,  claiming  liberty  once  more ; 
To  see  the  sparkling  waters  calmly  sweep, 
Or  hear  their  joy  in  gurgling  murmurs  deep. 
He  loves  to  watch  the  verdant  green  appear ; 
While  yet  reluctant  winter  lingers  near ; 
Winter  with  spring  contending,  death  with  life ; 
And  share,  in  feeling,  nature's  harmless  strife. 

Who  can  observe,  indifferent,  as  they  rise, 
The  opening  beauties  of  the  vernal  skies  ? 
Can  see,  unmoved,  the  cloudlets  calmly  float  ? 
Can  hear,  unmoved,  the  sparrow's  twittering  note  'I 
Oh,  loveliest  season  of  the  changing  year! 


THE    BRIGHTER   AGE.  29 

Lovely,  as  stealing  close  upon  the  rear 
Of  hoary  [winter,  wheeling  off  his  car. 
Where  polar  snow  and  polar  darkness  are. 

Oft  has  the  heart  exulted,  at  the  sight 
Of  vernal  clouds,  that  grace  the  morning  light. 
In  calm  repose,  oft  traced  the  changing  hue, 
Fringing  the  vapour  with  its  gold  and  blue; 
While  all  around,  reclothed  in  beauty's  dress, 
Flowers  of  all  colours,  fraught  with  loveliness, 
Their  Maker's  hand  display,  His  love  confess ! 

Shall  pleasure  so  refined  be  felt  no  more, 
When  the  bright  day  of  mercy  shall  come  o'er 
The  world  ?     Ah  !  no ;  methinks  it  cannot  be  ; 
Since  God  has  given  the  eye  its  power  to  see ; 
The  heart  its  power  to  feel ;  and  decked  the  spring  : 
That  eye  might  see,  and  heart  His  praises  sing. 
3* 


30  THE    BRIGHTER   AGE. 

Perpetual  spring  shall  grace,  as  some  will  sayr 
The  moral  beauty  of  that  blissful  day. 
Perpetual  Spring !  flowers  that  ne'er  shall  fade ! 
With  hue  and  fragrance  permanently  made  ! 
Leaves,  that  shall  ever  wear  a  changeless  hue  ! 
Nor  fall  in  autumn,  nor  in  spring  renew ! 
Is  it  in  man,  whom  repetition  cloys, 
Who  loathes  a  sameness,  novelty  enjo)^, 
Who  turns  disgusted  e'en  from  bliss  refined, 
If  pressed  too  frequent  on  the  satiate  mind ; 
Is  it  in  man,  to  relish  nature  more, 
When  her  variety,  her  change  is  o'er? 
Would  he  forego  the  rapture  of  the  heart, 
Felt  when  earth's  beauties  into  being  start. 
When  wintry  winds  are  gone ;  when  summer  air, 
Genial  and  sweet,  the  lovely  landscapes  share  ? 
All  this  forego,  for  an  unchanging  clime  ; 
Though  glorious  as  an  Eden  in  its  prime? 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  31 

Ah,  no !     Grant  him  the  rich  variety, 
Felt  in  fierce  winter,  dreadful  though  it  be  ; 
Seen  in  the  vernal  bloom  and  summer  sky ; 
And  when  autumnal  glories  court  the  eye. 

Give  to  the  soul  that  grace  revealed  from  Heaven  ; 
A  conscience  pacified  ;  and  sins  forgiven ; 
Let  it  but  feel  its  Maker's  presence  nigh. 
Where  summer  shines,  or  wintry  winds  are  high  j 
Where  snow-flakes  fall,  or  flowery  beauties  rise ; 
All  shall  delight  the  heart ;  all  charm  the  eyes. 

The  man,  of  meek  and  humble  soul,  can  find 
In  roughest  season,  thoughts  to  cheer  the  mind. 
His  is  the  pleasure  that  religion  brings ; 
Or  poor,  or  rich,  of  mercy  still  he  sings. 
If  lowly  cabin  be  his  mean  abode ; 
His  heart  as  lowly,  asks  no  more  of  God. 


32  THE   BRIGHTER  AGE. 

If  coarse  his  fare,  and  labouring  hard,  he  tries 
To  meet,  scarce  able,  but  the  day's  supplies  ; 
He  murmurs  not;  but  trusts  a  gracious  Heaven, 
That  all  he  needs,  in  mercy,  shall  be  given. 
If  round  his  humble  dwelling  north- winds  roar, 
And  driving  snow-storm  close  and  clog  its  door ; 
If  to  the  eaves,  the  cold  embankments  lay, 
Just  leaving  room  for  curling  smoke  to  stray ; 
Think  you  the  inmates  shudder  with  alarm  ; 
Or  from  the  driving  tempest  fear  a  harm  ? 
Think  you  the  sacred  oracle  's  forgot ; 
Or  prayer  less  frequent  in  that  lowly  cot  ? 
The  very  snows,  that  seem  in  wrath  to  fall, 
Begird  and  guard  his  little  domicil ; 
Defend  from  wintry  winds,  which  else  would  glide 
Through  the  rent  thatch,  or  in  the  crevice  wide. 
Thus  mercy  mingles  with  his  humble  lot, 
Comforts  and  blessings,  he  despises  not. 


THE   BRIGHTER   AGE.  33 

Thus  from  apparent  ill,  the  pious  poor 
Extract  the  good,  the  ill  they  learn  t'  endure. 

If  poor  can  praise,  when  north-wind  fiercely  blows ; 
Can  thankful  take  of  Heaven,  what  Heaven  bestows ; 
Let  not  the  rich,  in  triple  vestments  rolled, 
Complain  of  winter,  with  its  piercing  cold. 
Let  each  to  bounteous  Heaven  their  praises  send ; 
The  rich  and  poor  their  mingling  incense  blend. 

Thus  will  it  be,  when  Mercy  shall  unfold 
That  age  of  bliss — that  promised  age  of  gold. 
Then  piety  shall  hallow  every  state ; 
Content,  the  poor  shall  be ;  and  meek,  the  great 
In  every  heart  shall  reign  sweet  charity ; 
God  loved  on  Earth,  as  in  eternity. 


THE    BRIGHTER   AGE. 


PART    II. 

How  groans  creation,  racked  with  pains  and  fears  ! 
And,  Oh !  how  true,  that  earth  Js  a  vale  of  tears ! 
None  can  elude  its  misery  and  care : 
The  poor,  the  rich,  the  great,  the  lowly  share 
Sorrows  and  griefs,  anxieties  and  woe, 
That  o'er  us  all  a  sable  mantle  throw. 

And  is  there  nought  the  gloomy  scene  to  gild ; 
To  soothe  the  heart,  with  poignant  sorrow  rilled, 
To  calm  the  anxious  soul — to  chase  its  fears ; 
With  rain-bow  beauties  span  the  vale  of  tears  ? 
Hark !  from  the  cross,  is  heard  the  cairn  reply ; 
Peace  to  the  soul  on  Earth — rest  in  Eternity. 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  35 

That  cross  I  sing ;  that  tree  all  stained  with  gore ; 
There  at  its  foot  I  '11  weep,  and  there  adore : 
Weep,  for  the  sin  that  gave  the  Saviour  pain  ; 
Adore  "  the  Lamb,  that  lives — but  once  was  slain." 

Others  of  martial  deeds  and  arms  may  sing  ; 
The  hero  praise,  and  many  a  poesy  bring, 
To  deck  the  warrior's  bier,  or  crown  his  head ; 
To  swell  his  fame,  if  living,  or  if  dead  : 
Be  mine  the  task,  an  humble  lay  to  breathe, 
And  round  the  hallowed  cross  the  chaplet  wreathe. 
There,  on  my  darkened  mind  first  dawned  the  light : 
There,  when  despair  enrobed  the  soul  in  night, 
Mercy's  sweet  ray  my  longing  vision  blessed ; 
Revealing  hope,  in  seraph  beauty  dressed. 

Whate'er  I  sing,  whene'er  I  touch  the  lyre 
Oh  let  this  sacred  theme  the  heart  inspire  ! 


36  THE    BRIGHTER   AGE. 

If  not  too  mean,  the  numbers  shall  belong 

To  that  dear  name  breathed  in  the  angels'  song. 

From  the  blessed  cross,  inviting  mercy  sounds, 

"  Ho !  here  's  a  balm  for  all  your  bleeding  wounds  ! " 

If  conscience  thunder,  or  if  grief  distress  ; 

If  fear  disturb,  or  anxious  doubts  oppress ; 

Here  round  this  hallowed  tree,  doth  pardon  dwell, 

To  calm  the  conscience — gloomy  fear  dispel ; 

To  chase  the  darkness,  pour  upon  the  eye, 

The  hope  that  comes  from  th'  Incarnate  mystery. 

Here  doth  the  "  Sun  of  Righteousness  arise ; " 

Here,  "the  day  dawns — the  day  star"  greets  the  eyes. 

Around  this  cross  the  universe  shall  bend, 
And  mingling  praises  from  all  lips  ascend  : 
Beneath  its  peaceful  banner  waving  high, 
Tribes  of  all  colours,  of  all  countries  fly ; 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  37 

Till  Earth  redeemed — till  Heaven  to  man  restored, 
God  shall  be  known  to  all,  by  all  adored. 

The  cares  and  sorrows  that  afflict  our  race, 
Back  to  their  origin  we  may  retrace ; 
May  mark  the  limit,  where  sweet  innocence 
Flees  from  the  earth,  and  guilty  deeds  commence. 
Oh !  fatal  Fruit,  clustering  in  beauty  rare. 
That  lured  the  hand  of  sinless  Eve,  to  dare 
Touch  thee,  forbidden !     Oh !  the  fatal  hour, 
When  man  was  left  to  fall,  by  hellish  power  ! 

But  why  should  one,  who  sings  of  brighter  days, 
Pause  in  his  path,  to  strike  such  mournful  lays  ? 
Let  him,  exulting,  hail  that  blissful  morn, 
When  moral  beauty  shall  the  world  adorn  ; 
When  hell  no  more  shall  reign,  nor  sin  be  known, 
All  tears  be  dried,  all  misery  be  flown. 


38  THE   BRIGHTER   AGE. 

Look  o'er  the  earth  and  mark  th'  o'erwhelming  crowd ; 
A  living  ocean,  restless,  murmuring,  loud ! 
Millions  on  millions  struggling  in  the  chase, 
Ambitious,  envious,  avaricious  race  ! 
See  some  exulting,  some  in  deep  despair, 
Elate  with  hope,  or  bowed  with  anxious  care ; 
Revelling  in  pleasure,  racked  with  torturing  pain ; 
Victorious, crowned,  or  gasping  on  the  plain  ; 
Wearing  the  nuptial  wreath,  or  winding  sheet ; 
Tripping  the  dance,  or  chained  by  gouty  feet ; 
Driving  the  traffic,  poring  o'er  the  page ; 
In  youth  all  life,  or  tottering  in  old  age ; 
Ploughing  the  ocean ;  thundering  in  debate ; 
Sharing  domestic  bliss,  or  cares  of  state ; 
Reckless  in  sin,  or  penitent  in  prayer  ; 
Travelling  to  Heaven,  or  training  for  despair  ; 
Oh !  what  a  world  of  paradoxes  rare  ! 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  39 

Arise,  milienial  glory,  o'er  this  sea 
Of  human  strife !     Bid  death  and  darkness  flee ! 
Allay  the  storm,  and  shed  thy  peaceful  light ; 
Each  wave  of  passion  still,  or  guide  aright ! 

The  bright  improvement  when  that  morn  shall  break, 
The  bliss  that  mercy  in  the  heart  shall  wake — 
Man's  misery  gone,  and  buried  all  his  woe, 
While  purity  and  joy  the  world  o'erflow — 
Can  poet  these,  with  equal  numbers  show  ? 

Still,  do  the  sacred  oracles  reveal — 
And  who  dares  question  Heaven's  own  hand  and  seal? — 
A  universal  change  ;  all  human  guilt 
Cancelled  by  blood,  on  Calvary's  summit  spilt ; 
Each  vengeful  passion  gone,  each  heart  at  rest ; 
The  earth  one  family,  that  family  all  blest. 


40  THE    BRIGHTER   AGE. 

Then  shall  Oppression,  on  his  iron  throne, 
His  brow  all  darkness,  and  his  heart  all  stone, 
His  eye  terrific,  flashing  out  its  ire, 
His  tongue  a  death-spear,  tipt  with  flaming  fire, 
His  voice  a  knell;  a  knell  that  ever  tolls 
The  certain  doom  of  all  his  power  controls — 
Then,  shall  this  monster  fall,  and  gasp,  and  die. 
Hark  !  as  he  falls,  ten  thousand  voices  cry, 
1  Thanks  to  high  Heaven — thrice  welcome  Liberty  ! ' 

Ye  sons  of  Africa,  ye  bleeding  race, 
Anticipate  these  happy,  glorious  days ; 
For  you  they  come,  for  you  with  mercy  fraught. 
No  more  your  backs  shall  bleed — your  flesh  be  bought. 
No  more  the  white  man  with  a  savage  heart, 
Shall  seize,  and  bind,  and  drag  you  to  the  mart. 
Oh  !  cruel  thirst  of  gold,  slaked  in  the  blood 
Of  innocence  !     Avenge,  avenge  it,  God  ! 


THE    BRIGHTER   AGE.  41 

No ; — let  me  curb  the  indignant  muse,  and  pray; 
— If  for  such  crimes,  such  damning  crimes  I  may 
Crave  Thy  forgiveness — let  these  monsters  be 
Forgiven,  to  tell  how  rich  Thy  grace  and  free  ! 

The  slave-ship !  foulest  prison-house  of  death, 
Freighted  with  woe,  polluted  with  pent  breath, 
No  lively  banner  streaming  on  the  gale, 
No  name  to  mark  the  nation  whence  ye  hail — 
As  oft  thou  com'st  thy  living  load  to  sell, 
Thou  seem'st  a  gloomy  messenger  of  hell. 
The  negro  shudders,  with  instinctive  fears, 
As  o'er  the  ocean  wave  a  sail  appears  ; 
Stretches  his  eager  sight,  if  haply  he 
Mistake  some  distant  floating  cloud  for  thee. 
As  onward  rushing,  thy  dark  hulk  he  sees, 
One  moment  eyes  thee,  then  away  he  flees, 
Shrieks  the  alarm  through  hamlet,  wood  and  plain, 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

Invokes  his  gods  to  save  from  galling  chain, 

Fleet  as  an  ostrich  to  the  forest  speeds, 

Buries  him  deep  among  its  shady  reeds, 

There,  trembling,  quaking,  lists  the  blood-hound  cry. 

That  seeks  in  vain  its  victim's  secrecy. 

Thou  son  of  Mammon,  devotee  of  gold  ! 
Lolling  at  ease,  or  in  gay  chariot  rolled, 
Who  driv'st  this  horrid  traffic  for  thy  gain, 
Flashes  no  terror  on  thy  guilty  brain  ? 
Falls  not  upon  thine  ear  the  piercing  moan 
Of  thousands,  into  hopeless  slavery  thrown  ? 
Canst  thou  enjoy  the  luxuries,  that  come 
From  bleeding  men,  torn  from  their  native  home, 
When  all  thy  glitter,  all  thy  gorgeous  show, 
Is  bought  by  tears,  which  thou  hast  caused  to  flow  ? 
No ; — if  within  a  conscience  yet  there  be, 


THE   BRIGHTER   AGE.  43 

'T  will  sting  thy  bosom ;  with  its  poignancy 

'T  will  make  thee  sigh  o'er  thy  unlawful  gain, 

And  manacle  thy  heart  with  heavy  chain ; 

'T  will  make  thee  more  a  slave,  than  thou  hast  made 

Those  victims  of  thy  avaricious  trade. 

They  wear  the  fetters,  but  their  souls  are  free ; 

Thou,  monster,  hast  no  inward  liberty. 

Oh  Africa,  enthralled  land  !  I  see 
A  day-star  rising  o'er  thy  destiny  ! 
Thy  western  lands,  where  slave-ship  coasted  long, 
And  thy  dark  children  suffered  many  a  wrong, 
Of  late,  illumed  with  holy  light,  I  trace 
The  rays  of  mercy  brightening  o'er  thy  face. 

Liberia,  hail !  auspicious  colony  ! 
Reflecting  rays  of  glorious  liberty ! 


44  THE    BRIGHTER   AGE. 

Home  of  returning  Africans  !     I  long 
To  see  thee  crowded  with  a  countless  throng. 
Ope  wide  thy  arms,  and  o'er  the  ocean  call 
Thy  bowed  and  broken  children,  here  in  thrall. 
Bid  them  return  and  dwell  beneath  thy  care, 
And  freedom  feel,  and  freedom's  blessings  share. 

Hail,  blissful  period !  when  my  native  land 
Shall  wash  the  stain  from  off  her  guilty  hand  ! 
Shall  burst  the  manacle,  shall  loose  the  chain, 
And  bid  the  captive  greet  his  home  again ; — 
When  on  the  soil,  redeemed  by  patriot  blood. 
Rescued  from  tyranny,  and  blessed  of  God ; 
No  fettered  foot  shall  fall,  nor  crouching  slave 
Refute  the  pride  and  boast  of  freemen  brave. 
Oh !  happy  country,  when  such  ills  shall  flee  ! 
Land  of  my  birth,  sweet  home  of  liberty, 
I  love  thee  now,  but  then  more  dear  to  me ! 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  45 

Forgive,  kind  Heaven,  our  guilt !  Thou  gracious  Lord, 
Withdraw  Thy  frown,  and  sheath  Thy  vengeful  sword ! 
Though  on  Thine  ear,  the  cry  of  the  oppressed 
Falling,  may  raise  just  anger  in  Thy  breast, 
Forbear  to  strike,  let  justice  long  delay, 
Till  mercy  melt  the  slave-chain  with  its  ray. 
Let  the  poor  African  but  share  Thy  grace — 
'T  will  fit  his  spirit  to  the  bondman's  place. 
'T  will  make  him  happy,  happier  far  than  he — 
Who  trains  or  tasks  him,  master  though  he  be. 
'T  will  give  his  soul  the  freedom  of  the  skies, 
And  fix  his  hope  where  sorrows  never  rise. 
Then,  though  in  dreary  cabin  he  may  lie, 
And  life  be  waning  fast,  Eternity 
Shall  open  blissful  on  his  dying  sight, 
Gilding  his  death-couch  with  a  glory  bright. 
What  then  to  him  the  ills  he  felt  before? 
The  chain,  the  task,  the  lash — all  then  are  o'er. 


46  THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

One  note  of  warning  yet,  one  pitying  tear 
The  muse  compels ;  and  oh !  my  country,  hear  ! 

O'er  these  green  fields,  these  verdant  hills  and  vales, 
Towering  with  forests,  fanned  by  healthy  gales, 
There  roamed  a  race  of  tall  and  swarthy  men  ; 
Nerved  was  their  arm,  and  terrible  their  ken. 
The  bow,  the  tomahawk,  the  hatchet  rude, 
Were  means  of  sport,  or  gained  them  daily  food. 
They  trolled  the  finny  tribe,  or  travelled  deep 
In  forests,  where  the  deer  repose  or  leap ; — 
Free  as  the  mountain  air,  and  full  as  fleet, 
Vying  in  swiftness  with  the  roebuck's  feet. 

But  now,  poor  Indian,  poor  devoted  race  ! 
Where  are  ye  now,  and  where  's  your  lively  chase  ? 
Before  the  invading  tide,  retiring  still, 
I  trace  ye,  flying  on  the  western  hill. 


THE    BRIGHTER   AGE.  47 

Thousands  on  thousands  by  the  white  men  slain, 
Have  left  their  blood,  a  deep,  a  dreadful  stain, 
To  dye  these  shores,  to  drench  each  fertile  hill, 
And  be  a  death-seal  to  their  country  still. 

A  few  remain,  and  feeble  because  few. 
Strength  is  with  white  men,  and  they  wi  eld  it  too : 
Like  vulture,  with  keen  appetite  and  eye, 
Scanning  his  prey,  and  circling  him  on  high, 
Each  circle  nearing,  till  with  fatal  aim, 
Poising  and  fluttering,  swoops  upon  his  game. 

Yes,  the  poor  Indian  is  the  victim  still. 
He  must  forbear,  must  suffer  grievous  ill. 
No  murmuring  word  may  dwell  upon  his  tongue, 
Though  lands  be  rifled,  though  his  blood  be  wrung. 
For  shame,  my  country  !  if  thou  canst  forego 
Thy  virtue,  honor,  faith  canst  forfeit  too, 


48  THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

And  drive  these  remnants  of  a  mighty  race. 
From  lands  and  home,  for  white  men's  avarice ! 
True,  thou  hast  power,  and  Indian  must  submit ; 
But  there  's  a  God  in  Heaven ;  TREMBLE  AT  IT. 

O  red  man,  ever  doomed  to  misery ! 
Can  ye  so  tamely  yield  your  lands,  and  flee  ? 
By  all  that 's  just,  and  sacred  in  your  cause, 
By  all  that 's  dear  in  country,  home,  or  laws, 
Dwell  on  the  soil  which  God  and  nature  gave ; 
There  live,  there  die,  and  there  retain  a  grave. 

But,  wanderer,  there  's  a  brighter  day  for  thee, 
Though  broken-hearted,  bowed  to  misery, 
If  haply  thou  remain  on  earth,  to  share 
Its  light,  its  mercy,  and  its  blessings  rare ; 
If  not,  there  is  a  glorious  rest  on  high — 
No  sorrow  there,  nor  sin,  nor  tyranny. 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  49 

The  world  has  many  a  wound,  and  many  a  woe ; 
Which  shall  we  stanch,  or  which  shall  leave  to  flow  ? 
Oppression  's  not  a  shade,  an  empty  name ; 
Slavery  's  no  phantom,  raised  for  poet's  fame. 
Whole  nations  oft  are  slaves,  and  bow  the  neck 
To  despot's  yoke,  and  fear  a  despot's  beck. 
The  craven  minion  at  his  throne  kneels  down, 
Smiles  when  he  smiles,  or  trembles  if  he  frown. 

In  haughty  silence,  see  th'  oppressive  Turk, 
With  gorgeous  vestments,  turbaned  head,  and  dirk ! 
A  guard,  all  sabred,  round  him  waiting  stands, 
To  deal  the  death-blow,  when  their  lord  commands. 
Justice  and  mercy  to  this  tyrant  seem 
Unmeaning  terms — the  visions  of  a  dream. 
Justice  to  him  is  will,  and  mercy  too ; 
He  knows  not  either,  and  he  never  knew. 

O  cruel  Moslem !  throned  in  awful  state, 
5 


50  THE    BRIGHTER   AGE. 

Held  there  by  sabres,  thou  shalt  find  too  late, 
A  tyrant's  power,  but  speeds  a  tyrant's  fate. 

Who  can  describe  the  darkness  that  is  thrown 
On  minds  so  broken  'neath  a  Turkish  throne ! 
The  stormy  passions  lashed  to  fearful  strife, 
Rushing  on  death,  or  drowned  in  sensual  life  ! 
No  kindly  feelings  playing  round  the  soul, 
While  sullen  hate,  or  savage  joys  control. 

Indignant  nation  !  though  the  cross  ye  spurn, 
Though  at  the  name  your  brows  in  anger  burn, 
Know  ye,  that  cross  shall  wave  o'er  crescent  bright 
Resplendent  rise,  while  crescent  sinks  in  night. 
Your  haughty  souls  shall  break,  or  bow  to  One, 
A  name  despised,  God's  dear  and^only  Son. 
Moslem,  that  name  embrace ;  thy  sabre  break ; 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  51 

Return  to  God,  false  Mahomet  forsake. 
Let  the  high  oracles  of  Heaven  displace 
The  fictions  that  thy  Alcoran  disgrace. 
Turn  from  thy  pilgrimage,  and  leave  the  dust 
Of  coffined  prophet  in  its  tomb  to  rust. 
To  Calvary  come,  so  hated,  so  oppressed, 
And  learn  that  there  alone  the  soul  can  rest. 
The  day  approaches  when  all  this  shall  be, — 
When  ye  shall  bow  to  the  "  great  mystery ; " 
When  all  your  hate  to  holy  love  shall  turn, 
Your  soul  no  more  with  sinful  passion  burn. 

I  Ve  seen  the  night  of  gloom  and  tempest  drear 
Break,  as  the  rays  of  morning  light  appear ; 
Have  marked  the  darkness,  waning  on  the  sight, 
As  clouds  rolled  off  along  th'  horizon  bright ; 
Have  joyed  to  see  the  gloomy  vapor  driven, 


52  THE    BRIGHTER   AGE. 

As  the  last  gust  swept  o'er  the  clearing  heaven ; 
While  Phoebus,  like  a  conqueror  in  his  car, 
Burst  from  behind  this  elemental  war. 

Ah  !  feeble  emblem  of  that  blissful  day, 
To  dawn  on  darkened  minds,  in  beauteous  ray  ! 
The  "  Sun  of  Righteousness,"  with  glory  bright, 
Shall  roll  from  earth  the  gloom  of  mental  night. 
Then  shall  the  wrathful  Turk,  the  sensual  slave, 
The  wandering  Tartar,  and  the  Arab  brave, 
The  Abysinian,  Caffre,  and  Hindoo, 
Indian,  Malay,  a  dark  and  vengeful  crew, 
Then,  all  shall  walk  beneath  that  glorious  sky 
In  heavenly  robes,  in  moral  majesty. 

O'er  martial  deeds,  and  martial  arms  is  thrown 
Glory  how  dazzling  !  Fame's  loud  trumpet,  blown 
By  nations,  when  the  warrior's  victory 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 


53 


Dwells  on  each  tongue,  the  poet's  minstrelsy — 
All  mask  thy  horrors.  War,  scourge  of  humanity  ! 

Demon  !  I  know  thee,  on  thy  foaming  steed, 
Whose  sides  and  flanks  in  gory  currents  bleed ; 
Reins  loose,  expanded  nostril  breathing  fire, 
Hoof  bounding  high,  where  gasping  ranks  expire — 
I  know  that  arm  upraised,  with  falchion  red  ; 
That  eye-ball  glaring  on  the  unconscious  dead  ; 
That  ghastly  grin  of  satisfaction,  when 
The  field  is  piled  with  heaps  of  slaughtered  men  ; 
Monarch  of  murder,  demon  !  I  know  thee  then. 

How  canst  thou,  Genius,  dare  thy  war-song  pour, 
To  wake  the  strife,  excite  the  maddening  roar  ? 
Why  lov'st  thou  carnage,  and  the  deadly  strife, 
With  breast  to  breast  contending,  life  for  life  ? 
Does  not  calm  nature  woo  thy  wing  to  play, 


54  THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

Where  breezes  blow,  where  gentle  streamlets  stray : 
Where  trees  are  budding,  flowrets  sweetly  spring, 
In  valleys  green,  where  nature's  warblers  sing, — 
Where  cottage  beauties  smile,  and  village  spire 
Peering  on  vision,  wakes  the  pure  desire  ? 
Or,  if  thou  lov'st  the  dreadful  waste  of  war, 
Go  where  Omnipotence  impels  his  car. 
Mount  the  dark  pinions  of  the  raging  storm, 
And  slake  thy  thirst  of  terror  and  alarm  ; 
But  leave,  ah  !  leave  the  crimson  battle  plain 
Nor  tell  us  more  of  heroes  and  of  slain. 
Yet  if  thou  still  must  weave  the  bloody  lay, 
Unmask  the  monster,  tear  his  guise  away ; 
Give  us  the  death-shriek,  till  the  heart  shall  quake,— 
Let  running  gore,  and  groans,  and  gashes,  wake 
The  prayer,  that  God  would  give  us  peace,  for  Mercy's 
sake. 


THE    BRIGHTER   AGE.  55 

That  prayer  full  oft  has  gone  to  Mercy's  ear. 
Full  many  a  widow's  moan,  and  orphan's  tear, 
Have  spoke  thy  horrors.  War,  in  touching  tone, 
And  bade  thee  stay  thy  carnage,  dreadful  one ! 

He  who  commands  the  ocean-waves  to  rise, 
When  raging,  speaks,  and  quick  their  anger  dies. 
He  shall  command,  and  War,  with  murderous  train, 
Howling  shall  flee,  nor  scourge  the  earth  again. 
Then  the  white  banner  over  all  shall  wave ; 
No  cannon  thunder  more,  no  warrior  rave ; 
No  tear  bedew  the  cheek  of  widow  pale ; 
Nor  soldier's  orphan  tell  the  piteous  tale ; 
O  blissful  period,  day  of  mercy,  hail ! 

Flying  this  wholesale  murder,  Muse,  portray 
The  deed  of  blood,  that  shuns  the  eye  of  day. 


56  THE    BRIGHTER   AGE. 

Tell,  how  the  traveller  starts  in  forest  deep, 
As  round  his  path,  the  roaring  night  winds  sweep ; 
As  on  his  ear,  some  fallen  branch  and  dead, 
Crackling,  betrays  the  murderer's  silent  tread. 
Hark,  the  report !  like  lightning,  bullet  speeds  ; 
Backward  in  death  the  traveller  falls  and  bleeds. 

See,  in  yon  room  !  a  pale  and  glimmering  light, 
But  just  reveals  the  gamester  to  the  sight. 
His  all  is  gone — his  brow  is  dark  with  strife ; 
His  heart  become  a  hell,  with  misery  rife — 
There  on  his  table — pistol,  blade,  and  bane. 
He  reels  in  doubt,  as  in  his  dizzy  brain 
He  agitates  the  dreadful  deed  again. 
He  strides  the  floor — then  stops,  and  strikes  his  brow  ; 
Again  he  strides :  another  pause ;  and  now 
Seizes  the  pistol — points  the  fatal  lead  ; 
His  soul  is  gone — the  suicide  is  dead. 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  57 

But  who  can  tell  the  number,  who  disclose 
The  catalogue  of  ills,  of  crimes,  of  woes  ! 
They  fill  this  mournful  earth,  this  vale  of  grief, 
Exceed  all  computation,  all  belief. 
From  cot  to  palace,  courtly  lord  to  slave, 
All  drink  of  misery,  ere  they  reach  the  grave. 

Some  pine  in  dungeons,  dismal,  damp,  and  dark, 
In  form  a  skeleton,  their  life  a  spark. 
Chained  to  a  bolt,  shut  out  from  cheerful  light, 
They  clank  their  fetters  in  a  changeless  night. 

Oft  has  the  Christian  martyr,  thus  bereft 
Of  liberty,  of  life,  his  body  left 
In  dungeon  deep,  where  papal  power  confined 
All  that  it  could — all  but  the  unbending  mind. 
The  chain  that  wrapped  his  limbs  reached  not  his  soul ; 
No  power  on  earth  his  spirit  could  control. 


58  THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

The  bones  that  mouldered  in  the  rusty  cell, 
Told  where  that  spirit  free  had  gone  to  dwell. 

Prolific  source  of  crime  and  misery. 
Intemperance  !  what  hand  can  picture  thee  ? 
A  foul,  polluted,  loathsome,  deadly  vice ; 
With  swaggering  gait,  with  swollen  ideot  eyes  ; 
Thy  vitals  rotten,  and  thy  noisome  breath 
A  vapor,  from  the  sepulchres  of  death  : 
Away  !  thou  worse  than  beast,  away  from  me. 
The  reeling  drunkard  let  me  never  see. 

Look  at  yon  cabin,  scene  of  wretchedness, 
With  broken  windows  as  if  tenantless ; 
The  ragged  children  playing  round  the  door  ; 
— Poor  progeny  !  I  pity  ye  the  more — 
Scarce  wood  to  warm,  or  by  its  light  to  cheer 
The  wretched  inmates  of  that  dwelling  drear ; 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  59 

Ruin  without,  within  all  comfortless; 
There  lives  the  drunkard  in  his  idleness. 

Thou  worse  than  widow  !  linked  to  worse  than  dead, 
Unconscious  orphans,  homeless,  without  bread — 
Where  is  your  hope — your  consolation,  where  ? 
No  peace  is  yours ;  no  comforts  can  ye  share  ; 
Till  death,  so  dreaded  oft,  to  you  no  foe, 
Remove  the  cause  of  all  your  heavy  woe. 

Kind  Heaven  !  forbid  that  I  or  mine  should  be 
The  victims  of  this  sensuality  ! 
Whatever  ills  betide,  what  woes  may  fall, 
Oh  !  let  not  this,  the  bitterest  woe  of  all. 
Let  not  Intemperance  come  to  blight  our  joy, 
To  wring  our  tears,  our  every  bliss  alloy ; 
To  make  its  victim  loathed,  outcast,  and  vile  ; 
The  soul  to  damn,  the  body  to  defile ; 


60  THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

Lost  to  himself,  and  worse  than  lost  to  friends. 
Oh  !  grant  the  grace,  that  from  this  sin  defends  ! 

Mark  that  expression,  leer  and  impudent; 
That  blood-shot  eye,  so  full  of  ill  intent ; 
That  careless  lounge,  with  that  affected  grace  ; 
A  kindred  spirit,  rake — in  form  and  face. 
I  have  no  coloring  dark  enough  to  paint 
A  wretch  so  foul,  so  full  of  sensual  taint. 
His  home  the  brothel,  there  he  loves  to  dwell ; 
He  and  his  train,  an  embassage  of  hell. 
Polluted  creatures,  lost  to  fear  and  shame. 
All  virtue  gone,  forgotten  e'en  her  name ; 
Hopeless,  abandoned,  miserable  race  ! 
Oh  !  what  on  earth  can  crimes  so  deep  efface  ? 
A  sin  so  black — a  life  so  foul  and  base. 
Almost  outreaches  Heaven's  reclaiming  grace. 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  61 

Yet  there  is  one  in  sacred  record  given. 
To  tell  how  boundless  is  the  love  of  Heaven  ; 
So  infamous  and  vile,  so  lost  to  shame, 
That  virtuous  lips  scarce  dared  to  breathe  her  name. 
Still  at  the  Saviour's  feet  that  Mary  kneeled, 
Till  mercy's  balm  her  bleeding  spirit  healed  ; 
There,  fixed  in  penitence,  with  streaming  eyes 
She  bowed,  till  her  Redeemer  bade  her  rise. 
If  crimes  "  were  many,"  they  were  quick  forgiven  ; 
"  She  who  loved  much"  on  earth,  loves  more  in  Heaven. 

And  sordid  sins,  like  sensual,  are  base. 
Observe  the  miser — mark  his  haggard  face  ! 
To  him  the  universe  contains  but  one  ; 
That  one  himself,  his  sordid  self  alone. 
Though  strange  to  tell,  he  loves  not  e'en  himself ; 
His  heart  is  riveted  to  "  paltry  pelf.'' 
No  wife  nor  children  he ;  thanks  to  kind  Heaven  ! 


62  THE    BRIGHTER   AGE. 

To  such  a  soul  no  relatives  were  given. 

Though  rich  in  gold,  his  ragged  body  shows 

That  scarce  a  dollar  for  a  vestment  goes. 

His  food  is  coarse :  an  old  and  broken  chair, 

A  table,  cup,  and  spoon,  his  furniture. 

His  lonely  hearth  a  few  dry  faggots  light, 

And  serve  instead  of  taper  for  the  night. 

The  beggar  always  shuns  his  mean  abode, 

Too  mean  for  hope,  though  faint  with  misery's  load. 

The  robber  lurks  around  that  miser's  door, 

Counting  his  gold  at  midnight  o'er  and  o'er ; 

Poor  slave  of  mammon  midst  his  boundless  store 

If  avarice  hoards,  the  vicious  spendthrift  wastes, 
Enjoys  each  pleasure,  every  luxury  tastes ; 
Scatters  his  gold  with  lavish  carelessness, 
To  price  indifferent,  be  it  food  or  dress  ; 
Bedecks  his  form  with  colors  of  all  hue, 


THE    BRIGHTER   AGE.  63 

With  coat  of  recent  cut,  and  always  new : 
Laughs  at  economy  as  priestly  stuff, 
So  long  as  purse  and  pocket's  full  enough ; 
Happy,  thou  reckless  wight,  if  after  all, 
Thy  dandy  form  escape  the  prison  wall ! 

How  fraught  with  human  guilt  and  misery, 
The  crowded  ranks  of  each  community  ! 
Injustice,  bribery,  theft,  unlawful  gain, 
Parental  tyranny,  pride  and  disdain ; 
Unfaithful  husbands,  broken-hearted  wives ; 
Ungrateful  children,  anger,  malice,  lies  ; 
Ten  thousand  thousand  ills  and  agonies  ! 

Who  can  anticipate  the  coming  day, 
When  all  these  sins  and  woes  shall  pass  away, 
Nor  feel  his  heart  exulting  at  the  sight, 
Nor  pour  his  prayer  that  God  would  speed  its  flight? 


64  THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

No  robber  then  shall  haunt  the  forest  deep  j 
Secure  the  traveller  may  stroll  or  sleep  : 
No  suicide  rush  madly  on  his  fate  ; 
Nor  captive  wistful  look  through  prison  grate : 
No  martyr  clasp  the  stake,  or  clank  the  chain, 
For  liberty  shall  smile  o'er  all  again : 
No  bloated  drunkard  then  offend  the  eye ; 
The  fatal  poison  none  shall  sell  or  buy  : 
The  revel  be  forsaken,  and  the  fane 
Where  lewdness  dwelt  be  purified  again  : 
No  niggard  soul  be  found,  nor  miser's  heart, 
To  all  shall  charity  her  grace  impart: 
The  spendthrift  then  shall  curb  his  reckless  haste, 
And  give  to  poverty,  nor  longer  waste : 
Justice  her  equal  balances  shall  hold, 
No  hand  be  bribed  or  lured  by  tempting  gold ; 
Sharing  domestic  bliss  and  harmony, 
Each  family  a  type  of  Heaven  shall  be: 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  65 

Pride  overbear  no  more,  nor  haughty  eye 
Flash  in  disdain ;  anger  and  malice  die : 
Truth,  virtue,  honor,  innocence  shall  be 
Bonds  that  bind  all  in  blessed  security  : 
Oh,  day  of  wonders!  haste  thy  tardy  flight, 
And  burst  in  glory  on  our  ravished  sight ! 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 


PART  III. 

NOT  crimes  alone  that  cut  the  social  tie, 
Nor  woes  that  wring  the  heart  with  agony, 
Shall  take  from  earth  their  everlasting  flight, 
When  brighter  days  shall  chase  the  moral  night ; 
The  human  soul,  so  prone  to  error's  ways, 
Illumined  then  by  truth's  effulgent  rays, 
Rescued  from  prejudice  and  ignorance, 
Shall  wake  in  wonder  from  its  death-like  trance. 

Who  can  survey  the  errors,  unbelief, 
That  chain  th'  immortal  mind,  and  feel  no  grief? 
What  millions  still  in  moral  midnight  dwell; 
No  chart  to  guide — no  beacon  light  to  tell 


THE    BRIGHTER   AGE.  67 

Where  the  poor  spirit,  tempest-tossed  and  driven, 
May  find  at  last  a  safe  and  peaceful  haven  1 

Can  nature  be  an  index  to  their  path, 
To  guide  them  here ;  or  save  from  future  wrath  ? 
Look  at  their  miseries,  mark  their  numerous  woes, 
As  generation  after  generation  goes ; 
Why  no  improvement,  why  in  misery  still, 
If  nature  elevates,  or  saves  from  ill? 
Have  nations,  where  the  gospel  never  shone, 
Forsaken  deities  of  wood  and  stone  ; 
Abandoned  sensual  lusts,  and  found  the  road 
That  leads  to  Heaven,  to  purity,  to  God  'I 
Compare  their  present  with  their  past  estate  \ 
Ask  what  has  nature  done  to  elevate  ? 
Is  not  the  mind  as  dark,  the  thought  as  low 
As  in  past  ages  ?     And  if  this  be  so, 
Can  nature  guide  to  truth,  from  error  save. 


68  THE    BRIGHTER   AGE. 

Unloose  the  shackle,  or  redeem  the  slave  ? 
If  nature  has  not  saved,  she  never  will, 
(Passing  the  future)  e'en  from  present  ill. 

Who  can  conceive ;  what  human  tongue  declare 
The  nameless  woes  that  pagan  nations  share  ? 
Their  horrid  rites,  their  bloody  sacrifice. 
Their  gestures  lewd,  their  uncouth  images  ! 
The  son  his  sire  destroys ;  the  mother  too, 
As  if  a  mother's  love  she  never  knew, 
Flings  from  her  arms  the  babe  she  nursed  before, 
And  as  the  floods,  with  fierce  and  savage  roar, 
Seize  on  their  victim,  reckless  of  its  cries 
She  stands  invoking  bloody  deities. 

The  mother  in  her  turn  must  feel  the  brand : 
The  blazing  torch  is  in  her  offspring's  hand. 
Linked  to  the  dead  she  grasps  the  fatal  stake, 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  69 

While  drums  and  shouts  a  fearful  uproar  make; 
The  word  is  given — the  flaming  torch  is  thrown ; 
The  shouts  increase — the  mother's  soul  is  gone. 

But  oh  !  that  horrid  carnival  of  death ! 
Where  many  a  pilgrim  heaves  his  dying  breath. 
Where  vultures  hover,  where  the  jackals  dwell, 
Making  the  spot  a  vestibule  of  hell ; 
There  frowns  the  gloomy  car  of  Juggernaut, 
With  pennons  flapping,  with  lewd  emblems  wrought ; 
Its  ponderous  wheels  with  axles  dripping  gore, 
The  blood  of  thousands  they  have  rolled  o'er ; 
The  plain  all  strewed  writh  human  skulls  and  bones  ; 
Some  scarcely  dead  and  pouring  out  their  groans, 
As  greedy  vultures  with  impatient  claw 
Strike  on  their  victim  ere  the  soul  withdraw ; 
The  cymbal,  gong,  and  trump,  with  thundering  roar, 
Mingled  with  shouts  which  Hindoo  thousands  pour, 


70  THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

Rending  the  air  and  making  earth  to  quake ; 
Christian !  behold  this  scene — a  lesson  take. 

Oh !  how  could  man ;  how  could  the  human  soul 
Such  gods  invent ;  so  shocking  and  so  foul ! 
Clothe  them  in  attributes  of  cruelty ; 
Appeased  by  nought  but  blood  of  votary  ? 
Did  earth  no  images  obscene  possess, 
Fraught  with  sufficient  horror  and  distress  ? 
Must  man  the  prison-house  of  hell  explore, 
Cull  all  that's  frightful  on  th'  infernal  shore; 
Combine  the  black  proportions  into  one ; 
To  make  the  monster  Juggernaut  alone  ? 

But  faint  are  words,  unable  to  express 
The  pagan's  woes,  the  pagan's  wretchedness  ; 
To  speak  of  tortures,  penances  and  pain, 
Endured  to  cancel  guilt,  or  cleanse  its  stain  1 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  71 

Some  stretch  the  arms  in  air,  till  habit  chain 
Those  arms  aloft,  nor  can  they  drop  again. 
Some  cut  the  flesh  ;  some  roll  on  pointed  knives ; 
They  waste  their  blood,  and  sacrifice  their  lives, 
An  offering  to  incensed  deities. 

What  heart,  not  lost  to  love  or  sympathy, 
Can  with  indifference  view  such  misery  ? 
What  tongue  dare  ridicule,  or  dare  oppose 
Measures  to  save  the  Pagan  from  his  woes  ? 
Who  would  arrest  the  herald  of  the  skies  ? 
Impelled  by  pity,  kindred,  home,  denies ; 
And  o'er  the  ocean  wave  he  wends  his  way 
To  pour  on  pagan  darkness  heavenly  day. 
He  goes  to  snatch  the  widow  from  the  fire, 
With  "  living  waters  "  quench  the  funeral  pyre : 
To  lift  the  bleeding  victim  from  the  ground, 
And  bind  the  balm  of  mercy  on  his  wound : 


72  THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

To  tell  of  boundless  love  revealed  by  Heaven  ; 
Of  faith  and  hope ;  of  crime  and  guilt  forgiven 
To  point  the  wanderer  to  that  bright  abode. 
The  rest  of  Heaven,  the  dwelling  place  of  God. 


'T  is  not  enough  that  tenderest  ties  are  riven  ; 
That  ocean-peril ;  bark  by  tempest  driven  ; 
That  ills  like  these  are  felt,  and  meekly  borne  ; 
That  thou  from  kindred,  country,  home,  art  torn 
'T  is  not  enough,  that  in  a  pagan  land, 
A  wretched  cabin,  built  by  thine  own  hand, 
Scarce  shelters  thee  from  storm  and  hurricane  ; 
That  sultry  clime  strikes  deadly  on  thy  brain  ; 
That  savage  beasts,  and  men  more  savage  still, 
Prowl  round  thy  path  and  threaten  thee  with  ill ; 
'T  is  not  enough,  that  no  society 
Such  as  thou  lov'st,  can  cheer  or  comfort  thee ; 
That  doomed  on  heathen  soil  to  dwell  and  die, 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  73 

Yet  holding  cherished,  in  thy  memory. 
Scenes  of  thy  home,  thy  long  forsaken  home, 
That  on  thy  plaintive  soul  will  gushing  come ; 
'T  is  not  enough  that  these  afflictions  fall; 
No: — Thou  must  bear  a  heavier  load  than  all; 
Must  hear  thy  cause  assailed — thy  name  traduced, 
Thy  motive  questioned,  and  thy  work  abused. 
Nor  this  from  pagan  only :  O,  for  shame  ! 
From  Christian  men  :  I  mean  that  wear  the  name. 

Poor,  cold,  and  callous  hearts !  enjoy  the  bliss 
Of  sneering  at  such  men,  such  work  as  this  ! 
Know  ye,  that  God  approves,  that  He  sustains 
These  living  martyrs  in  their  toils  and  pains. 
'T  is  all  they  ask.     They  look  for  a  reward, 
Not  in  your  smile,  nor  from  your  golden  hoard. 
They  fear  your  frown,  and  feel  your  poignant  wit, 

As  little  as  that  sun  the  clouds  that  flit 

7 


74  THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

Beneath  his  course,  while  he  all-glorious  flies, 
Heedless  of  vapours  foul  that  round  him  rise. 

Ye  noble  spirits,  noblest  of  our  race ! 
Heralds  of  mercy,  messengers  of  grace, 
Know,  that  not  all  despise,  nor  all  defame 
Your  God-like  work,  your  high  and  deathless  name 
There  's  many  a  heart  that  feels  a  generous  ire, 
When  sordid  meanness  calls  you  "  men  of  hire ; " 
When  low  ambition  whispers  "  it  is  fame  " 
That  kindled  in  your  souls  the  glowing  flame : 
No  higher  motives  their's,  they  dare  pretend 
That  you  are  like  them  in  their  aims  and  end. 
Know  that  your  brethren  shield  your  worthy  name : 
What  others  hate,  they  love ;  what  others  blame, 
They  will  approve,  if  God  approve  it  too : 
Their  hearts  shall  be  your  rampart  firm  and  true. 


THE    BRIGHTER   AGE.  75 

Though  ills  beset,  and  heavy  woes  oppress, 
And  earth  to  thee  is  but  a  wilderness ; 
Toil  on,  thou  man  of  God,  till  death  shall  come 
And  waft  thy  spirit  to  its  peaceful  home. 
There  may  a  crown  be  worn — a  rest  be  given ; 
Thy  labours  o'er — thy  weary  soul  in  Heaven. 
There  may  a  host  of  grateful  pagans  stand, 
Girding  thy  ransomed  spirit  like  a  band, 
Mingling  their  notes  with  thine  eternally ; 
This  is  reward  enough — enough  for  thee. 

If  in  the  plenitude  of  Thy  rich  grace, 
O  God  of  love !  one  soul  may  find  a  place 
Within  that  rest,  or  on  that  peaceful  coast ; 
One  grovelling  soul,  who,  far  below  this  host 
Of  worthies,  yet  aspires,  with  trembling  heart, 
"  To  run  the  race"  and  share  the  Christian's  part ; 


76  THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

Let  him  but  occupy  some  lowly  seat 

Beneath  these  heroes,  even  at  their  feet ; 

;T  will  be  to  him  an  honour  more  than  meet. 

The  indications  of  a  brighter  day, 
Streak  the  dark  East  with  many  a  deepening  ray. 
The  cross  is  planted  there ;  and  from  its  light, 
Flashes  of  glory  fall  on  pagan  night. 
Across  the  wave  the  sacred  ark  is  gone, 
And  Dagon  trembles  on  his  bloody  throne. 
The  gospel  banner  floats  in  triumph,  o'er 
Regions  where  demons  tyrannized  before. 

From  east  to  west — from  north  to  south  arise, 
From  mount  and  vale,  in  mild  and  polar  skies, 
Anthems  of  mercy,  hymns  of  pious  praise, 
For  gospel  light — for  better,  brighter  days. 
What  though  that  light  be  feeble,  scarce  a  ray 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  77 

Compared  with  mental  midnight's  gloomy  sway ! 
JT  is  destined,  Gracious  Heaven,  by  Thee  to  rise, 
And  fling  the  veil  of  darkness  from  the  eyes. 

Who  would  despise  the  stealing  twilight  grey, 
Because  less  glorious  than  the  flood  of  day  ! 
What  hand  would  quench  a  star  of  feeblest  light, 
If  one,  and  only  one,  illumined  night  ? 
Yet  must  the  twilight  dim  precede  the  suu  ; 
And  evening-star  her  sister  train  outrun  : 
So  may  that  dawning  ray  of  Mercy  be 
Precursor  of  millenial  purity. 

Do  pagan  errors  only,  chain  the  mind  ? 
Are  all  but  Heathen  to  the  truth  inclined '/ 
Alas !  how  few  that  bear  the  Christian  name, 
Believe  the  Christian  faith,  or  feel  its  flame  ! 

Though  'neath  its  genial  light  they  long  have  been, 

7* 


78  THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

Though  by  its  retributions  warned  from  sin ; 

Its  hallowed  courts — its  festivals  of  love, 

Its  ministers  commissioned  from  above ; 

Though  wooed  by  these,  their  wandering  feet  remain 

In  death's  dark  way,  and  clank  the  willing  chain. 

In  that  eventful  day,  when  all  must  be 
Filed  in  full  ranks  to  meet  their  destiny, 
On  the  left  hand  the  guilty  soul  shall  stand, 
And  quake  to  hear  the  stern,  but  just  command. 
How  deep  the  condemnation  he  must  meet, 
Who  casts  thy  truth,  O  God,  beneath  his  feet ! 
The  hypocrite,  with  sanctimonious  whine, 
Cloaking  his  lusts  beneath  the  hallowed  shrine  ; 
And  formalist,  with  all  his  pious  train 
Of  ceremonies  mumbled  o'er  in  vain  ; 
The  heretic,  who  clips  the  sacred  page 
To  meet  his  pride,  t'  accommodate  the  age, 
Tearing  with  bold  and  sacrilegious  hand, 


THE    BRIGHTER   AGE.  79 

The  offensive  doctrine,  or  the  pure  command  ; 

These  all  shall  meet  a  fearful  overthrow 

At  death,  and  when  th'  archangel's  trump  shall  blow. 

O  sacred  Truth  !  how  few  thy  waters  find, 
So  sure  to  cleanse — so  fit  to  clear  the  mind  ! 
While  gushing  from  the  "  well-spring  "  of  the  sky, 
Wooing  with  sparkling  purity  the  eye ; 
How  many  turn  to  loathsome  fetid  streams, 
Though  on  their  path  thy  healthful  current  gleams ! 

The  deist  raves ;  and  full  of  pungent  wit, 
Deals  ridicule  for  argument,  to  hit 
The  sacred  oracle,  and  make  it  seem 
A  fabrication,  or  a  foolish  dream. 
That  holy  book,  so  terrible  to  sin, 
To  crime  without,  impurity  within, 
Strikes  on  the  heart,  and  goads  the  conscience  deep  j 


80  THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

His  peace  annihilates,  disturbs  his  sleep, 
Makes  him  a  wretch,  unless  it  prove  a  lie, — 
A  wretch  on  earth  and  in  eternity. 

"  A  lie  it  shall  be  then,"  the  deist  swears  ; 
When  argument  and  reason  fail,  he  dares 
Attack  the  sacred  record  of  the  skies 
With  satire,  mean  abuse,  and  flagrant  lies. 

But,  O  !  how  vain  his  wit,  how  weak  his  arm ! 
His  puny  shafts  recoil,  nor  can  they  harm 
The  adamantine  structure  built  by  Heaven. 
Sceptic,  beware !  thy  bosom  may  be  riven. 
Omnipotence  who  gave,  will  guard  His  word, 
Will  loose  His  patience— "  draw  His  glittering  sword  ;" 
Then,  worm,  thou  diest.     Victim  of  unbelief, 
Bow  to  the  dust  in  penitential  grief; 
Renounce  thy  hatred  to  a  book  divine ; 


THE    BRIGHTER   AGE.  81 

Revere  the  cross  where  love  and  mercy  shine. 
There  is  thy  hope,  though  impious  thou  hast  been  ; 
There  only  canst  thou  wash  thy  deadly  sin. 
Return,  thou  wanderer ;  and  a  light  may  rise 
From  that  blessed  word,  so  hateful  to  thine  eyes. 
There,  on  thy  gloomy  mind  a  beam  may  fall, 
To  show  thy  wretchedness — thy  mental  thrall ; 
Lead  thee  to  truth,  and  point  the  way  to  Heaven : 
Haste,  sceptic,  thou  mayst  never  be  forgiven. 

Who  will  believe  an  atheist  can  be 
Where  God  is  seen  in  glorious  majesty ! 
Where  every  quivering  leaf  His  power  displays, 
And  nature  pours  her  paean  to  His  praise ! 

In  every  blade  of  grass  or  drop  of  dew ; 
In  booming  tempest — cloud  of  golden  hue ; 
In  summer  breezes — autumn's  falling  leaf; 


02  THE    BRIGHTER   AGE. 

In  vernal  beauties — winter's  snowy  wreath ; 
In  flower  and  shrub,  in  tree,  and  verdant  sod ; 
Who  but  can  mark  the  presence  of  a  God ! 
And  O  !  to  yonder  heaven  but  glance  the  eye, 
At  once  we  feel  there  is  a  Deity. 
His  Spirit  seems  to  hover  o'er  the  skies, 
And  awe  the  soul  with  fearful  mysteries. 

Can  there  be  atheist  'mid  such  scenes  as  these, 
Where  God  is  whispered  in  each  passing  breeze ; 
Where  all  that  greets  the  ear,  or  meets  the  eyes, 
Speak  of  a  power  omnipotent  and  wise? 
Yet  there  have  been  who  claimed  this  gloomy  creed. 
Talked  of  the  soul  as  though  it  were  a  weed, 
Laughed  at  religion  as  a  priestly  lie, 
Insulted  God  with  horrid  blasphemy, 
Scouted  at  virtue  as  an  empty  name, 


THE    BRIGHTER   AGE.  83 

Unloosed  the  passions — fanned  their  hellish  flame  ; 
Yes,  such  have  lived  to  prove  what  man  can  be  ; 
Alas  !  how  sunk  is  poor  humanity ! 

Oh  !  gloomy,  foul,  and  isolated  soul, 
Whose  stormy  passions  through  thy  bosom  roll ; 
Thou  canst  not  drive  religion  back  to  Heaven, 
Nor  quench  the  glowing  hope  of  sins  forgiven  : 
Thou  canst  not  stay  the  angel  in  his  flight, 
Pinion  his  wing,  nor  curtain  earth  with  night: 
Nor  canst  thou  stop  the  chariot  wheels  that  roll 
In  triumph  round  the  earth,  from  pole  to  pole. 
Thy  puny  arm  is  weak,  ambitious  one ; 
Too  weak  to  cope  with  Deity,  alone. 

Hasten  thy  wheels,  O  Time,  and  speed  the  day, 
When  all  these  fatal  errors  shall  decay ; 


84  THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

When  Truth's  clear  light  shall  visit  every  soul, 
And  from  the  clouded  vision  darkness  roll ! 

No  more  shall  unbeliever  scorn  the  grace 
That  woos  in  mercy  to  its  sweet  embrace ; 
No  more  reject  the  offered  terms  of  heaven  ; 
But,  like  the  prodigal,  return  forgiven, 
The  sacred  messenger  of  God  no  more 
Wake  on  the  guilty  ear  dread  Sinai's  roar ; 
Nor  bleed  his  heart  to  speak  of  wrath  and  woe, 
And  paint  the  horrors  of  the  world  below  ; 
But  all  his  grateful  task — his  tender  care, 
To  lead  his  flock  where  "  peaceful  rivers  are ; " 
To  open  "  greenest  pastures"  on  their  eye, 
And  nurse  them  for  a  brighter  bliss  on  high. 

The  hypocrite  shall  drop  his  mask  and  cloak, 
Baring  his  guilty  bosom,  Heaven  invoke 


THE    BRIGHTER   AGE.  85 

To  pardon  deeds  of  darkness  and  of  sin ; 
To  make  him  fair  without  and  pure  within. 
Each  soul  that  bows  within  the  hallowed  fane ; 
Each  sacrifice  on  sacred  altar  lain, 
Shall  be  accepted  as  an  offering  meet, 
Rising  like  incense  to  the  mercy  seat. 

No  more  the  formalist,  with  vain  parade 
Of  duties  done  or  sacrifices  made, 
Shall  hope  to  purchase  Heaven,  or  God  compel 
To  save  his  self-complacent  soul  from  hell. 
Then  will  he  learn  to  sink  into  the  dust ; 
To  swell  no  more  ;  or,  if  he  glory  must, 
To  speak  of  Him  who  died,  to  laud  the  cross  ; 
All  other  things  to  count  but  worthless  dross. 

No  heretic  hi  that  bright  age  shall  be, 

To  wrest  the  truth,  or  mar  its  purity. 
8 


86  THE    BRIGHTER   AGE. 

The  pride  of  reason  then  to  faith  submit, 

Nor  ask  if  this  be  true,  or  that  be  fit. 

All  that  the  sacred  oracles  contain, 

Mysterious,  or  intricate,  or  plain, 

With  meekness  be  received ;  nor  man  be  more 

The  haughty  questioner  he  was  before. 

The  sceptic  too,  who  scorns  the  sacred  page, 
Will  he  be  found  to  blot  that  golden  age  ? 
No !  heart  like  his  could  never  bear  its  light, 
Too  pure,  too  dazzling,  for  his  vicious  sight. 
The  atheist,  deist,  then  will  be  no  more ; 
But  all  acknowledge  truth,  and  all  adore. 
O  happy  era !  fraught  with  many  a  bliss, 
Free  from  all  ill — from  error's  subtleties, 
How  pants  the  heart  to  hail  thy  coming  day, 
How  longs  the  eye  to  catch  thy  morning  ray  ! 


THE    BRIGHTER   AGE.  87 

Ask  you  the  date  of  this  most  glorious  age '? 
'T  is  not  recorded  on  the  sacred  page. 
"  The  times  and  seasons  "  Heaven  has  not  revealed ; 
Deep  in  th'  eternal  archives  they  're  concealed. 
Yet  who  can  mark  the  signs  as  they  appear, 
And  doubt,  that  such  an  age  of  mercy  's  near? 
Does  not  the  truth  of  God,  with  mighty  sway, 
Roll  like  a  car  of  triumph  on  its  way  ? 
Are  not  the  messengers  of  heavenly  grace, 
Bearing  the  gospel  to  each  pagan  race  ? 
"  Between  the  living  and  the  dead"  they  stand, 
Prayer  on  their  lip,  and  censor  in  their  hand ; 
And  see !  "  the  plague  is  stayed" — the  prayer  is  heard — 
The  dying  live — the  idolater's  restored. 

The  haughty  Turk  has  quailed  to  Christian  might ; 
The  crescent  wanes — the  cross  is  waxing  bright. 


»«  THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

Freedom  is  cheered  where'er  her  sacred  cause 
Triumphs  o'er  tyranny's  oppressive  laws. 

Inventive  genius  spurns  impediments, 
And  links  in  union  distant  continents : 
The  ocean  wave — the  towering  Alpine  height 
Are  crossed  with  ease,  and  traversed  with  delight. 
These  are  the  avenues  by  God  designed, 
To  admit  the  light  of  mercy  to  the  mind. 

That  light  is  glancing  from  these  favoured  shores 
It  strikes  on  India  now,  and  now  it  pours 
Its  gleams  of  mercy  on  Pacific  isles : 
And  now  it  penetrates  the  western  wilds. 
See  how  it  lights,  with  hope,  the  dark  Hindoo ; 
See,  how  it  wakes  the  soul  of  Indian  too ! 
Where'er  it  goes,  whatever  land  it  gilds, 
It  cheers  the  heart,  and  soothes  its  numerous  ills. 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  89 

That  land  of  hallowed  names— that  once  loved  soil ; 
Where  Israel  found  a  rest  from  desert  toil ; 
What  is  it  now,  but  gloom  and  barrenness  ? 
Where  is  its  glory,  where  its  sacredness  ? 

It  was  the  dwelling  place  of  God :  and  there 
His  people  sung  their  hymns,  and  poured  their  prayer. 
It  was  the  land  of  plenty :  Sun  and  shower 
Cheered  and  refreshed  each  shrub  and  plant  and  flower  ; 
The  hillock  smiled  with  verdure,  and  the  plain, 
Waved  with  the  palm  tree  or  the  golden  grain. 
It  was  a  land  sublime.     There,  Lebanon 
Caught  on  his  snow-clad  peak  the  setting  sun ; 
Begirt  with  cedars  of  a  mighty  size, 
Rock-bound  their  roots — their  summits  reached  the  skies. 
It  was  a  scene  of  splendour.     Founded  there, 
The  holy-city  rose,  majestic,  fair, 
Like  a  rich  jewel  beautifully  set, 
8* 


90  THE    BRIGHTER   AGE, 

The  centre  of  a  glorious  coronet ; 
So  Salem  in  the  midst  of  Palestine, 
"  The  joy  of  earth, "  of  cities  the  bright  queen. 
It  was  a  scene  of  wonders.     There  the  Lord 
Bowed  His  Divinity — fulfilled  his  word. 
He  came  in  human  flesh,  He  came  to  die, 
Was  God  and  Man  ;  oh,  deepest  mystery  ! 
The  human  attribute  was  then  displayed, 
When  in  the  humble  manger  He  was  laid ; 
But,  hark  !  at  midnight  from  the  starry  sky, 
Angels  proclaim  in  songs,  His  Deity. 
As  man,  He  stood  in  Jordan's  flowing  stream, 
And  bade  the  Baptist  fix  the  seal  on  Him ; 
The  conscious  heavens,  in  homage  of  their  Lord, 
Opening,  rolled  back ;  and  awe-struck  men  adored. 
As  man,  he  dropped  his  tears  o'er  Lazarus  dead ; 
As  God,  he  spake,  and  back  the  spirit  fled. 


THE   BRIGHTER   AGE.  91 

As  man,  he  lay  in  the  cold  sepulchre ; 

As  God,  he  rose  a  mighty  conqueror. 

He  walked  the  waters  as  He  walked  the  land, 

The  obedient  wave  reposed  at  His  command. 

His  voice  could  reach  the  dead.     All  nature  stood 

Ready,  to  hear  the  mandate  of  its  God. 

But  now.  alas  !  that  sacred  land  is  lone ; 
Israel  has  left  her,  Israel's  God  is  gone  ; 
Her  soil,  once  verdant,  now  with  weeds  is  strown  ; 
Her  gay  and  glorious  city  overthrown ; 
No  beauty  now  is  there ;  nought  but  her  name 
Remains  to  indicate  her  former  fame. 

The  Turkish  mosque  denies  fair  Zion's  hill ; 
Jordan's  sweet  stream  has  dwindled  to  a  rill ; 
The  Arab-robber  makes  those  woods  his  home, 


92  THE    BRIGHTER    AGE. 

Marks  with  an  eagle-eye  the  traveller  come, 
Darts  from  his  secrecy,  and  swoops  his  prey. 
Then  back  to  mountain  speeds  his  rapid  way. 
How  have  the  threatening  tones  of  prophecy, 
O  land  of  Canaan,  been  fulfilled  on  thee ! 

But  soon  the  harp,  that  breathed  a  mournful  strain, 
Shall  sing  of  mercy  brightening  o'er  thy  plain ; 
Nor  longer  sigh,  where  weeping  willows  lave 
Their  silver  leaves  along  the  sluggish  wave. 
Thy  hills  and  vales,  of  late,  O  Palestine ! 
Caught  a  few  feeble  rays  of  light  divine. 
On  Calvary's  summit,  and  in  Olivet, 
Once  wet  with  tears  of  love  and  bloody  sweat, 
The  Saviour's  friends  have  stood,  and  mourned  for  thee, 
Thou  fallen  region ;  mourned  thy  destiny. 


THE    BRIGHTER    AGE.  93 

But  thy  once  happy  children !  where  are  they  ? 
Where  is  the  pious  race,  who  loved  the  way 
Of  Zion  ;  loved  to  sing  her  songs,  and  tell 
The  wonders  that  their  ancient  sires  befel  ? 
Ah  !  they  have  wandered  far  from  Canaan's  shore ; 
The  tribes  are  lost,  a  nation  now  no  more ; 
The  sceptre  gone — Jerusalem  7s  in  heaps  ; 
Zion's  fair  daughter  sits  alone  and  weeps. 

Daughter  of  Zion,  dry  thy  flowing  tears  : 
See,  in  the  light  of  prophecy,  appears 
Thy  hastening  glory.     See  thy  children  fly 
Like  tempest  clouds, — they  darken  all  the  sky : 
They  pour  around  their  ancient  homes  once  more : 
The  veil  is  gone ;  Messiah  they  adore. 
Then  shall  thy  scathed  plain  in  beauty  bloom ; 


94  THE    BRIGHTER   AGE. 

The  "  Sun  of  Righteousness  "  shall  chase  thy  gloom, 

Thy  hills  shall  bear  again  the  clustering  vine, 

Jerusalem  rebuilt,  in  splendor  shine. 

Gentiles,  that  see  thy  light,  shall  join  thy  praise ; 

From  every  land,  in  every  language,  raise 

The  shout  of  glory  to  their  coming  Lord  : 

By  all  obeyed — beloved — BY  ALL  ADORED  ! 


THE    END. 


[Mioyu^t. 

"Waterbury.   jJared  B. 

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